Where Ghosts Walk
by Errant Reality
Summary: The Doctor and Clara land in Ravenswood where they run into the Liars. As they attempt to find Ali before A gets to her, they encounter one of the Doctor's creepiest enemies.
1. Chapter 1

"How about the liquid moon of Purwoosha?" Clara heard, leaning against the Tardis console. The Doctor peeked his head around the other side. "Clearest waters in the universe. Makes the Caribbean look filthy" he grinned.

"I'm not convinced," Clara scrunched up her nose, arms folded.

"Clearest waters. In the universe. How are you not convinced?" the Doctor said, confused. "What if I tell you the liquid moon of Purwoosha also holds the 35th century's greatest underwater theme park?"

"Now we're talking," Clara approved. The Tardis rumbled, trembling as it was buffeted by the Time Vortex. Moments later, it hit the ground with a light thud. Brimming with energy, the Doctor bounced towards the doors.

"Hold up, Doctor. Can we breathe? How can we breathe if it's underwater?"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks. He held one finger in the air and rushed beneath the console platform, great coat whooshing out behind him. Clara could hear him muttering as he rummaged through the infinite number of things he had stored down there. She tapped a foot against the glass floor. A moment later, he returned, a silver piece of metal clamped over his nose and mouth.

"What is that?"

"Air filter. Sucks in the water, extracts the oxygen, sends the water back out again. Brilliant piece of technology. Just hold it over your mouth," he said, voice muffled as he slipped the strap of the filter around Clara's head. He gave her a thumbs up as she adjusted it. This time, she said nothing as he opened the Tardis door.

He stuck his head out. Brought it back in. Stepped over the threshold. Jumped. Turned back to look at Clara.

"Definitely not the liquid moon of Purwoosha," he announced, disappointment lacing his voice. Clara slipped the air filter off her face as the Doctor did the same. She stepped out beside him. Fog clung to the ground, making shady ghosts of everything further than twenty feet from the Tardis.

"So, where are we, then?" Clara asked as a pair of people went past in period dress. "The Victorian era?"

The Doctor stuck out his tongue. Brought it back into his mouth, grimacing. "21st century, I'm afraid. Pennsylvania. But, apparently there's a costume party! I need my top hat. Top hats are cool."

"How did we end up here? 21st century United States isn't exactly the greatest underwater theme park of the 35th century," Clara pointed out.

"I know!" the Doctor called from the depths of the console room. "Tardis must have picked up something. We should find out what it is," he emerged, top hat sitting upon his head. As they followed the path the couple had, Clara had the niggling feeling that the Doctor was dressed much more appropriately than she was. He hadn't been wrong about a costume party. Everywhere around them milled people in costumes so elaborate, it was hard to think that the two of them hadn't just walked into the middle of a 19th century gathering. Albeit a gathering in a graveyard. Somehow, Clara couldn't help remembering every ghost story she'd ever heard as a child. And Britain was home to the oldest, most terrifying ghost stories in the world. She felt eyes on her back and hugged herself. She'd never liked cemeteries.

"Who has a party in a cemetery?" she whispered to the Doctor.

"Isn't it great?" he wheezed, clasping his hands together. They came to a stop behind a group of four girls, furiously whispering to each other.

"We have to find Ali before A does," the tallest of the group said.

"Are we even sure she's going to be here?" the girl in a purple dress whispered back.

"A's sure. That's good enough for me," the blonde girl said, not bothering to whisper. "It's time to end this. I want to find Ali, and I want answers. Besides, the sooner I can get out of this corsage, the better."

"Corset," the fourth girl corrected.

"Whatever. Just look for a blonde in a red coat."

Clara glanced at the Doctor. He'd overheard the exchange too. An conspiratorial smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Lost your friend?" he said to the girls. Four heads whipped around to stare at him. Four pairs of eyes narrowed.

"Who the hell are you?" the blonde asked.

"Hanna," one of the others said in low warning, taking a step forward, like she would tackle Hanna if she launched herself at the Doctor.

"No, she's right. Who are you and what do you know about Ali?" the smallest girl of the group looked at the Doctor.

"I'm the Doctor, this is Clara. And I happen to be very good at finding lost things."

"Are you a detective?" Hanna asked.

"Hanna, he's a doctor, not a detective. But what kind of doctor is good at finding lost things?"

"Spencer's right. What's your real name? What are you a doctor of?" the tallest girl, in a blue pinstripe suit, demanded.

The Doctor flashed a grin. Clara could almost taste the glee rolling off him in waves. This always was his favourite part. She could have rolled her eyes.

"He's just the Doctor. Like he says, he's good at finding lost things. If you've lost someone, we can help," she stepped forward, interrupting. The girls frowned at her, sticking together. Uncertainty burned in their eyes. Whatever was going on, Clara had the feeling that it was a lot bigger than either she or the Doctor could possibly anticipate. In her experience, people weren't usually as suspicious of other people as these four girls were.

"Like hell. This could all be part of A's plan, for all we know. I say we walk away right now from the creepy doctor and his girlfriend," Hanna stated to her friends. Clara bristled.

"First of all, I'm not anybody's girlfriend, least of all his. Secondly, we're trying to offer help. Are all Americans so hostile? Is it in the rulebook"

The girl in the black velvet jacket laughed. "Yeah, we are; like you said, it's in the rulebook. And you're British? I was going to apply to Oxford and Cambridge, but after my Stanford admissions disaster, I don't think they'll have me. I'm Spencer. This is Hanna, Aria and Emily," she pointed to each of them in turn. She stuck out a hand.

"Oxbridge is overrated anyway," Clara smiled, taking the hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor's astonished expression. "So," Clara said, "tell us about your missing friend."

**A/N: this is only intended to be a short fic. Nothing epic and sweeping. Essentially, a Doctor Who episode, featuring the Liars.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry, did you say blonde girl wearing a red coat?" Clara casually asked. Spencer nodded. "Like her?" Clara pointed, as a girl, the ends of her blond hair poking out from her raised hood, ducked through the exit of the tent, and back into the graveyard. Without a word, the four girls ran dashed after her, Clara and the Doctor close on their heels.

"Ali? Ali!" Emily yelled as the figure disappeared around a corner. There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Clara wondered just how long they'd been chasing their once believed to be dead friend, just how much finding Ali meant to each of them. And why did Ali, if it was Ali, keep finding them, just to keep running? Was she trying to lead them somewhere? Clara didn't understand why the girl didn't just meet her friends in secret, tell them she was alive and enlighten the stressed group of girls. Perhaps Ali wasn't the friend they assumed she was. Immediately, guilt swamped Clara. There must be some good reason. She had no right to judge what she didn't know.

They skid to a stop, seconds after the girl in the red coat turned the corner. Eyes squinting into the area she went, there was no sign of her. She'd melted into nothing. The six of them inched forward.

"Ali?" Emily called again. Silence answered. It was a mausoleum of some sort, a great marble structure, statues with blank unblinking eyes lining the walls. Clara checked behind several of them, just in case.

"Girls don't just disappear into thin air," the Doctor muttered, just as Spencer exclaimed "Look!"

She pointed at a patch on the ground. "No leaves," she said, "which means this moves."

"I knew that," the Doctor remarked, "or, I could have known that. Would have, if I looked." He reached into the inside pocket of his great coat, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He pointed it at the door, scanning it.

"What is that?" Aria stared, as the sound echoed across the mausoleum.

"Sonic screwdriver. Now, no one get in the way. That statue's heavy, but I'm trying to move it," grunted the Doctor.

"Sonic wouldn't work on stone," Spencer dismissed, just as the statue began to grind against the ground. The four girls gaped. Clara suppressed a smile.

"You'd be surprised at what a sonic screwdriver can do," she murmured into the ear of an astonished Spencer. She looked into the place revealed by the door; a set of stairs lead down into the dark. The Doctor adjusted his top hat and took the first steps. Halfway down, the door slid shut.

"Hey!" Emily bolted back up, "open up! Who's there?" She banged against the stone, but it remained resolute.

"Why does this always happen?" Aria groaned. The Doctor soniced the steps.

"Trigger mechanism on that step," he pointed, "releases the door and closes it when someone steps on it. No way to open it from this side."

"Onwards and downwards then," Clara pushed past the Doctor, setting foot inside what seemed to be a tunnel.

"There'll be another way out. Tunnels; no one ever builds them to lead nowhere. Besides, there's a breeze. Feel it?" the Doctor noted, squinting against the wind. The lights mounted on the walls hummed, flickered.

"Ali!" Emily called into the space. The sound echoed back to her. The Doctor used his sonic screwdriver again, the green light eerie in the dark. A rat darted past their feet and Hanna screamed. Clara's heart slammed in her chest. She wondered that it hadn't broken out of her ribcage yet.

The Doctor started left. The wind picked up and they had to lift their arms to shield their eyes from dust and dirt and shards of debris as it pelted them. They pushed on, feet shuffling against the floor, bodies leaning into the wind. Clara felt Spencer in front of her, Emily behind.

Another gust and the lights went out. A power shortage was exactly what they needed in that moment. They still pushed onwards. Clara hoped that the Doctor was right, that this was the way they were supposed to be headed. Who was she to doubt? He wasn't often wrong.

They stopped when another gust almost blew them off their feet. Hats went flying into the dark. The Doctor cursed when his top hat when flying past Clara's head. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the wind died, the leaves swirling into a pile at their feet. Clara let out a sigh of relief, just like the girls on either side of her.

"Hanna? Oh my god. Hanna!" Aria yelled and Clara's heart leapt into her throat.

"Where did she go?" Emily panicked, eyes frantically darting around.

"I thought she was right behind you, Aria," Spencer accused.

"She was!"

"Oh no. Oh no no no," the Doctor groaned from behind them all. He stared at the statue that they'd passed in the dark. One of its hands was outstretched, inches from Aria's shoulder. "Get away from that statue, Aria, now!"

They scrambled away from it.

Clara touched the Doctor's shoulder. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Nobody blink. Keep staring at that statue, and don't look away. Don't even blink. Long as you can. Whatever you do, don't blink!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Doctor, what happened to Hanna? Why are we staring unblinkingly at a statue? It's a statue!" Spencer said, exasperated.

"It's not just a statue. Look at it. When the lights were on, its hands were covering its face. It's a Weeping Angel. Quantum locked beings that feed off time energy," the Doctor explained.

"Yeah, I didn't understand a word of that," Aria said, still staring at the statue that had almost touched her.

"It doesn't move when you're looking at it, but as soon as you look away," the Doctor gestured with his hands, "poof, it moves. And when it touches you, you get sent back in time. The Angels feed off the energy that creates."

Out of the corner of her eye, Clara could see Spencer frowning, her eyes watering as she stared at the Angel. Clara's own eyes were burning. "Energy can't be created. It's against the laws of physics," Spencer choked out, then clenched her jaw, determined not to blink.

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could get a word out.

"Physics schmysics. Can we talk about the fact that Hanna just got transported back in time?" Aria snapped.

"What are we supposed to tell her parents?!" Emily freaked out beside Clara. Nobody looked away from the Weeping Angel. The Doctor cleared his throat.

"The important thing here is that we get away from the Weeping Angel. We can save Hanna. But right now, you are my priority. So, everybody just back away, slowly, and don't take your eyes off that statue!"

Slowly, step by shuffling step, the group of them made their way backwards, heels hitting debris that they couldn't see. The Angel stood motionless, one hand extended outwards, its face contorted into the kind of expression that Clara hoped would never crop up in her nightmares. By the time they reached the corner and the Weeping Angel slipped out of sight, the five of them were running for their lives, hearts pounding in their ears.

* * *

Hanna hit the ground with a crack. Her head spun, blackness creeping in around the edges. The room was dark, but the soft din of a large number of people talking floated in from the other side of the door. It took her a minute, but the darkness subsided, and she managed to lift herself up off the floor. She'd lost her hat, but her dress, the 1920s style get up that she'd bought in Philly was fine, thankfully; it had cost a fortune. Ever since The Great Gatsby film, people were clamoring to emulate Jay Gatsby's famous parties; so far, none had been nearly as successful, the least of which was the graveyard party that she and her friends had attended in Ravenswood, all for the sake of finding Ali before A did. That asshole. If Hanna ever got her hands on him, he'd need more than some creepy gas mask to get breathing again.

With a soft click, she opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, her heels sinking into the lush carpet underfoot. The voices sounded from the end of the hallway, and Hanna followed them. Intertwined with the sounds of people talking, she heard a gentle piano melody, the kind of thing that would put her to sleep if she was in her room listening to it, but seemed perfect for the party setting; well, for a party that clearly wasn't for teenagers. That much was made clear when she finally entered the room and found herself in a room of beautifully clad people, most clutching at tall glasses of champagne and smoking cigarettes, the smoke of which clung to the ceiling in a dull grey haze. Despite her dress, Hanna felt as out of place as a blue telephone box in a graveyard. She pressed her back against the wall, hoping to spot someone she knew.

Confused thoughts raced through her mind. She had no recollection of how she'd ended up at this house, this party, from the underground tunnels. Panic started rising in her throat as she realised that she had no idea where Emily or Aria or Spencer were. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to keep calm. If she could survive a night in a gay bar, or the night she crashed her boyfriend's car into a tree, or basically any other freaking night of her life, she could survive a night at a stranger's fancy dress party in a mansion. A footman offered her a drink on a silver platter. Without a second thought, she took it and downed it. The alcohol made her body temperature rise, but she itched for another drink anyway. She was just about to flag another footman when someone bumped into her.

"Oh, I'm so sor-" his apology was cut off midsentence as the man and Hanna recognised each other.

"Caleb?!"

* * *

Clara slammed the door shut behind her, the last of the group to enter the room, panting, dirt and sweat streaking her face. She glanced around at the others. No one was missing, save Hanna, but if the Doctor said that he could save her, then he could save her; there was time for that yet. Sometimes her faith in him wavered, but never when it came to saving the life of an innocent person. Somehow the Doctor always came through. He sweeped the room with his sonic screwdriver, the green light out of place among the dust and the once luxurious furniture.

"So," he said, clapping his hands together, "two lost friends and Weeping Angels. I love the 21st century!"

Spencer, Aria and Emily were already looking around. Clara watched as Spencer trailed her fingers over the ivory keys of the piano that stood in the centre of the room, the tinkling notes hanging in the air as heavy as the dust that the five of them breathed. Light fixtures on the walls hummed with electricity, the yellow spilling in pools on the wall. Above their heads, a chandelier was dark.

"Ali was here," Emily whispered. Aria shook her head.

"How do you know?"

"Gut feeling."

"I love those! Gut feelings, they're always right," the Doctor grinned, "which means we're closer to one lost friend being one found friend."

Clara drew her jacket closer. Around her, the house yearned, lonely and empty, with too many rooms coated in dust and withered, forgotten memories; its opulence reduced to almost nothing. In the belly of the beast, she was a pathogen, and pathogens were always evicted or destroyed. A hallway stretched out before her, the rich carpet turned grey with accumulated dust. Shadows pulsed out of open doors to unknown rooms. Spencer came to stand beside her. Just the presence of her there made Clara feel better, less alone. The fabric of their sleeves brushed each other.

"Does he really know what he's doing?" Spencer asked softly, not indicating who she meant, nor looking even looking at Clara. The Doctor's companion said nothing for a moment. Did he? Certainly not, not most of the time, but he caught on quicker than everybody else, and maybe that's all that mattered. He'd saved her life more than once. Endangered her too, but she was still standing here, so what did it matter?

"Yes," she said. Spencer nodded.

"Emily was right. Ali's been here. I feel it too. God, we're so close. After three years, we might actually see her again, we might find out what's going on, whether the hell that we've been put through was worth it. Our lives have turned into a damn nightmare since they found her body, and we know now about as much as we knew then, which is nothing," Spencer bowed her head, and out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw the taller girl wrap her arms around herself, trembling, although whether from cold or rage or something else, Clara couldn't tell. She put her own arm around Spencer's shoulder.

"If the Doctor says he'll find her, he will. He's good at finding lost people."

The man in question was stalking around the room, tapping walls, listening, gazing down the other corridors that branched off, and muttering to himself. Clara caught him going to adjust his top hat, only to realise it wasn't there. The expression on his face turned sour.

"There's something odd about this house," he declared.

"You don't say," Aria rolled her eyes, "it's a dark, abandoned mansion that hasn't been lived in in years"

"Well yes, there is that, but there's more, below the surface. You're not thinking hard enough. You're not asking why."

"Why what?" Emily frowned.

"Why the house was abandoned," Spencer stepped towards the Doctor. He guffawed, a goofy, proud smile spreading over his face. He pointed a finger at Spencer.

"Exactly." He spun around, arms open. "Look at this place! Mahogany panels, chandeliers, baby grands - this place belonged to a very wealthy family. Why would they suddenly disappear? Why would people stop living in a magnificent house like this? Unless there was something malignant going on."

"Something like a Weeping Angel? I think this case closes itself," Aria pointed out, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ha! Wrong! The Angel moved in after the family moved out. Place was already abandoned. It's something else."

"How do you know that the house was already abandoned?" Spencer argued, "I think Aria's right. A statue that sends people back in time, of course the people who lived here disappeared; the Angel sent them back in time! It explains everything."

"Small place, this town, isn't it?" the Doctor ran a finger over the lid of the piano, "the kind of place where if people started disappearing, other people would notice. The kind of place where other people would panic if there was no discernable reason their friends kept going missing. And yet, they're throwing _parties_." He stared hard at them. Clara felt herself shrink back away from that stare. "If the Angel had been here for quite a while, I'd say we'd be dealing with an abandoned town, not just an abandoned house. And if it were the Weeping Angel, we'd be dealing with an entire flock of them, not just a single statue. No, that Angel's alone, abandoned like the rest of this place."

"So what are we dealing with?" asked Emily from the far corner of the room. "And what do we do to get Hanna and Ali back?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on!" Caleb dragged Hanna out of the ballroom, his fingers digging into her skin. She wriggled free as they entered a private room and shut the door.

"Hey, get off me! What the hell is going on? Where are we?" she fired the questions at him without pausing for breath. Caleb, his dark hair falling around his eyes, sighed. Not the kind of sigh that indicated annoyance, but a deeper sigh, the kind that told stories of heartache and nightmares coming true. Hanna's heart sank.

"Of course this had to happen," Caleb groaned.

"Will you tell me _what _the hell is happening!"

"Hanna! Can you please give me a second? I'm processing!" Hanna frowned, looking at her boyfriend, really looking.

"Caleb?" she looked up into his face. He sighed again. The thing that had been niggling at her since she'd recognised him in the other room floated to the surface. She wasn't just imagining things; Caleb looked _older_. Spidery lines branched out from the corners of his eyes, needle point thin, and a deep crease that she'd never seen before ran up his forehead, between his eyes. She took a step back, heart hammering in her ribcage.

"Caleb?" she repeated, a whisper. His eyes pierced through her, laden with emotion. Suddenly the distance between seemed as vast as an ocean, and as uncrossable. Hanna shivered.

"You might want to sit down," Caleb led her to a wooden chair, draped in red velvet. The fabric seemed foreign beneath her fingertips. Whatever this place was, it didn't sit right with her. Who the hell had velvet upholstery?

At least there was Caleb. Maybe he wasn't her Caleb, she could sense that, but her Caleb was in there somewhere, beneath layers of age and finery, beneath the rim of his top hat, below the fine etchings of lines on his face. But his caution was grating on her nerves.

"Alright. Now, out with it. Talk!" she demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. Caleb audibly swallowed, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His nervousness was infectious; Hanna felt it at the base of her spine, a cold hand that could tear her to bits in seconds.

"The good news is that you're still in Ravenswood," he began, making Hanna wonder what the bad news was. As if being in Ravenswood wasn't bad enough. The town gave her the fucking creeps. She couldn't wait to get back home. Rosewood wasn't so bad after all.

"The bad news," Caleb continued, "is that it's 1914."

"What is that? Like twenty four hour time?"

"No, Hanna, like the year," Caleb shot back, visibly annoyed now. It took Hanna a second for the words to sink in. But when they did, it was like a bomb had gone off inside her head. Caleb wouldn't lie to her, not about something like that. He might lie to protect her, but what kind of lie would result in him dressing up in coattails to tell her that the year was 1914?

"Hanna," he was kneeling in front of her now. "Hanna, you need to listen to me. I was in Ravenswood, you'd walked away, told me to stay behind, right after I took a bus for hours just to get to you. I found out later that the others lost you in the tunnels, but you didn't mention it then, just kissed me and told me to stay. A few months later, I was here, in this house with Miranda, in 2013, looking for something - anything - to help me understand why this town was so strange. And then there was a booth, a phone booth, with this old fashioned phone in the cradle. It rang and I answered. There was no one on the other end. So I hung up. When Miranda and I came out of the phone booth, it was 1902."

Hanna's head reeled. "Who's Miranda?"

Caleb laughed, throwing his head back, a full hearted laugh. He steadied himself against Hanna's knee. "I just told you that we travelled back in time, and your first question is 'who is Miranda?' I've missed you."

"I need to know who the bitch exploring abandoned houses with my boyfriend is!" Hanna explained, ruffled by the laughter. Sure, getting stuck in 1914 was going to be a problem. What was she going to do without her cell or proper electricity or her Prada heels? But as long as she had Caleb, it wouldn't matter. She could always work on finding a way back. After all, if you could fall through a hole in the universe once, surely you could do it twice. She focused when she saw the expression on Caleb's face, completely sober and piercing through her again. Sorrow softened the corners of his eyes.

"Hanna, Miranda's my wife."

* * *

"There's nothing in this room," Spencer sighed, staring into the dim light of yet another dust covered room. Clara nodded. Along the corridor came sounds of the others, opening doors, rummaging, the sound of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. None of them really knew what they were supposed to be looking for. "Anything out of place," the Doctor had said, but in a house like that, it could be anything. Most things were out of place, from a different era. Clara felt like she was walking through a museum.

"Can I ask you something?" Spencer said softly as the two of them trod the carpet down to the next room. Clara shrugged, inviting the question. Spencer frowned for a moment before asking. She opened the next door and the two of them entered. "You think he can really find Hanna?"

"Sure," Clara nodded, shrugging again. "He's found lost people before."

"Yeah, but time travel? That whole thing about the Weeping Angel? How can that possibly be real?"

"You'd be surprised. I used to think the same thing, that the universe was so small, that impossible things didn't happen. That there were rules. He showed me that it wasn't true. I've seen things, Spencer, that I never would have thought possible. I've skirted around a black hole, seen aliens, proper aliens. Proper _lesbian_ aliens. And I've seen people die. More people than I would like," Clara's voice dropped to a whisper. They'd stopped in the centre of the room and Spencer was looking at her. Her fingers wrapped around Clara's.

"No one's going to die tonight. If impossible things happen, then Hanna's coming back in one piece, we stop the Weeping Angel and everything goes back to normal," she murmured, her voice soft, but insistent. And Clara trusted her. More than she trusted the Doctor, as if in that moment, hell could come knocking on her door, and Spencer would keep it out, keep her safe. It took her aback.

_Ring._

_Ring._

The sound shot through the air, making the two of them jump out of their skins. Clara came back to herself and her eyes darted around the room, trying to find the source of the sound.

"Is that a _phone_?" Spencer asked, face screwed up in disbelief. They broke apart, searching the room, atop tables and beneath layers of dust, until Clara pulled open a door and found herself face to face with the ringing phone. Spencer was right behind her. She reached a trembling hand out and picked up off the hook. She heard the link click. She raised it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is anyone there? Help, please!"

Both Spencer and Clara stared at each other, wide eyed. Clara turned her attention back to the phone, but only for a second. From behind her, she heard "well, shit" and turned to find the Weeping Angel, arm outstretched, several metres away.

"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there? I need help. I need a doctor."

_Me too_, Clara thought to herself, the phone to her ear, her eyes already starting to water. The lights started to flicker.

"There's something here, the house is shaking. I found this phone booth. The phone was ringing. I don't know who you are or why you're calling, but I need your help. Who are you? Why aren't you speaking? Do you think this is funny? I need help!" the voice was coming from the speaker, a woman's voice, terrified. Clara wanted to say something to calm her, to let her know that there was someone on the other end of the phone. But nothing came. There was nothing but the Weeping Angel and Spencer, in front of her. If one of them blinked, Spencer had no chance. Slowly, she inched out of the phone booth, pushing Spencer behind her, slipping the phone into her hand. Somehow, neither of them blinked.

"What are you doing?" Spencer furiously whispered. "Now you're in its way."

"And you're not," Clara replied. "It's a win-win situation."

"No it's not you English ponce. It's going to send you back in time! How is that a win-win situation?"

"Well, nobody blinks, and everybody stays in the present. Now don't look away and don't blink!" Clara urged. Now she was standing before the Angel, the reality was sinking in, and going back in time wasn't as appealing without the prospect of riding there in a blue box. The lights buzzed, but stayed on. The voice still came through the telephone. Nobody paid it any attention.

"You know, there's a way that we can blink and still not have the Angel move," Spencer whispered into Clara's ear, her breath warm and wet. "No, listen," she said as Clara moved to protest. "We have to alternate blinking. As long as there's one person looking at it, the Angel can't move."

"Great, I'm stuck in a phone booth with a crazy person. Again," Clara growled, exasperated.

"It'll work!" promised Spencer. "I'll tap your shoulder every few seconds. Blink as soon as I tap you. I'll wait a few seconds and then blink, then tap you again."

"Who am I talking to? Are you there? The lights are flickering. Someone is hurt. I can't find my husband. My name is Mrs. Rivers. Mrs. Miranda Rivers and the year is 1914. If you're there, send help," the voice from the phone pleaded. Spencer lifted it to her ear.

"Listen ma'am, we're in trouble of our own. There's a statue trying to kill us, and we're stuck in this phone booth with a phone that rang. We didn't call you. You called us. There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."

"You are there! Please, please! I don't know what to do. This house, my house, is shaking. Everything is dark. I think someone is bleeding."

"Listen. There's nothing I can do!" Spencer almost shouted, tapping Clara's shoulder. "I'm looking at imminent death by a statue that feeds off Time Energy. I would love to do something, but there is literally nothing I can do. I'm sorry, lady, but you're on your own."

"You sound as crazy as I do, so I'm just going to come out and say this. If it's my last chance to confess it, I might as well tell it to a stranger. My name is Miranda Rivers, but once I was Miranda Collins. I came from a place called Ravenswood in 2013. The man I married was a man called Caleb Rivers. He came with me. I don't know how we got here. All I know was that we answered a phone in my uncle's abandoned manor and when we hung up and exited the box the phone was in, it was 1902," the woman said.

"Wait! What did you say? Did the box has frosted windows? In the third room on the right in the east corridor?" Spencer yelled into the phone, tapping Clara again. The line crackled into the silence.

"How did you know that?"

Spencer shuffled further back into the booth, pulling Clara in with her by the back of her jacket. Footsteps shuffled outside of the room, and the Doctor, Aria and Emily burst in, faces wild. But Spencer was already slamming the phone down on the hook.


End file.
